He shrugged his shoulders and leaned over to Yanni, who told them that it might be about midday if the wind held like this. For all Sylvia's exultation, the vision of enchanted space that seemed to forbid sleep on such a night soon faded from her consciousness, and she did not rouse herself from dreams until dawn was scattering its roses and violets to the wind. "I simply can't shave," Michael declared, "but Samothrace is in sight." The sun was rising in a fume of spindrift and fine gold when Sylvia scrambled forward into the bows. Huddled upon a coil of wet rope, she first saw Samothrace faintly relucent like an uncut sapphire, where already it towered upon the horizon, though there might be thirty thundering miles between. "I'm glad we ended our adventure with this glorious sea race," shouted Michael, who had joined her in the bows. "Are you feeling quite all right?" She nodded indignantly. "See how gray the sky is now," he went on. "It's going to blow even harder, and they're shortening sail." They looked aft to where the crew, whose imprecations were only visible, so loud was the drumming of the wind, were getting down the mainsail; and presently they were running east southeast under a small jib, with the wind roaring upon the port quarter and the waves champing at the taffrail. It did not strike either of them that there was any reason to be anxious until Yanni came forward with a frightened yellow face and said that the captain was praying to St. Nicholas in the cabin below. "Samothraki bad place to go," Yanni told them, dismally. "Many fish-mens drowned there." A particularly violent squall shrieked assent to his forebodings, and the helmsman, looking over his shoulder, crossed himself as the squall left them and tore ahead, decapitating the waves in its course so that the surface of the water, blown into an appearance of smoothness, resembled the powdery damascene of ice in a skater's track. "It's terrible, ain't it?" Yanni moaned. "Cheer up," Michael said. "I'm looking forward to your shaving me before lunch in your native island." "We sha'n't never come Samothraki," Yanni said. "And I can't pray no more somehows since I went away to America. Else I'd go and pray along with the captain. Supposing I was to give a silver ship to the παναγἱἱα in Teno, would you lend me the money for the workmens to do it?" "I'll pay half," Michael volunteered. "A silver ship to Our Lady of Tenos," he explained to Sylvia. "Gee!" Yanni shouted, more cheerfully. "I'm going to pray some right now. I guess when I get kneeling the trick'll come back to me. I did so much kneeling in New York to shine boots that I used to lie in bed on a Sunday. But this goddam storm's regular making my knees itch."